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  1. Girlfriend
  2.  
  3. In high school my girlfriend and I went to a local fair. There was a roller coaster she wanted to ride. Now, we were both virgins at the time so she thought it would be a good idea to lose our virginity to each other on the coaster.
  4.  
  5. We get on the coaster. In the back car so no one can see us. She pulls down her shorts and she's not wearing panties. I almost lose it right then. She reaches down my pants. And that's when she found my stash.
  6.  
  7. See, from the time I was about 11, I would masturbate into a sandwich bag. When no one was home, I'd pop that bag into a pot of boiling water. I used to imagine I could hear millions of little sperm screaming. Sperm holocaust. It was exhilarating to kill millions of things with one simple act. After a good 20 minutes in the pan, I'd let it cool and then stick it in my food dehydrator. It'd form a crust. I'd scrape it off and store it in another bag. This other bag became my stash.
  8.  
  9. I always dreamed that the first time I fucked a girl, she'd pull out this stash I had been saving for years and snort it like cocaine. I formed this elaborate fantasy where she'd snort my boiled dry cum powder and I'd tongue her asshole.
  10.  
  11. Well, so there I am on this coaster with my girlfriend holding my cum bag and she fucking drops it. Between the tracks. Never to be found. Punch her in the face. She screams, starts crying. Blood running down her face. I don't care. Punch her in the head. Again and again. Again! Over and over! A bloody mess. She's dead. Keep punching. Her head is now hamburger. Hamburger Helper Ultimate Cheeseburger Macaroni.
  12. Skin
  13.  
  14. When I was a kid, I had a bad skin condition that caused chunks of dead skin to fall off constantly. We were poor and I couldn't see a doctor about it, so my mom would just help me pick up the skin and rub lotion on my back.
  15. My mom was an alcoholic. My dad was a real dick. He slept around and did lots of drugs. He slipped acid into my mom's drinks at dinner when she wasn't looking. We'd watch her trip. It's pretty fucked up, but growing up, I thought this was all normal.
  16.  
  17. I had a dog that we kept outside in a large lot with a doghouse. She was really my only friend, as I wasn't allowed to go to other kid's houses and I definitely wouldn't bring any over to my house. She and I ran around our back yard for hours every day after I got home from school.
  18.  
  19. When I was about 13, my dad fucking hanged himself in our front yard. Some drug dealer was coming for money and he couldn't pay. My mom came home early from work, found him, and went inside and blew her brains out with a .357 she kept in the side table.
  20.  
  21. So, I come home from school to find both my parents dead.
  22.  
  23. My first thought is, well, I gotta feed the dog. See, I never fed or cleaned up after the dog; my dad always did all that. I just made sure she got exercise.
  24.  
  25. I go into the utility building out back and I open up the large garbage bin that had all our dog's food in it and what do I see? All my old collected skin. They fed my dog my skin.
  26.  
  27. So, I took my shirt off, went into the dog pen, and let my dog just eat the skin right off my body. She viciously attacked me, and all the while I was thinking about my dead parents. She started eating my face. She took out an eye and half my nose before the neighbors shot her. In the throes of death, she puked up my skin and a ton of blood. Blood everywhere. Dead dad, mom, dog. I loved that dog. Try to reattach severed eye. Pull it off my forehead. Head-on. Apply directly to the forehead.
  28.  
  29. Convenience Store
  30.  
  31. A couple of weeks back, I drove home to see my grandparents. It's about a 4 hour drive, but my grandma isn't doing so well and I'm not sure if she'll be around much longer.
  32.  
  33. The drive is always mind numbing. Endless miles through seemingly abandoned countryside. I listen to music and comedic podcasts, laughing to myself in order to stay awake and keep alert. I've also made it a habit of visiting several convenience stores along the way.
  34.  
  35. There's a small "mom-and-pop" convenience store in a small town off the interstate. They have good coffee and are always friendly. Annoyingly, they play sickeningly saccharine Christian radio over the loudspeaker and, for some reason, the owner saw fit to employ a bunch of Russian girls there. I'm not even sure where they came from. This area isn't exactly culturally diverse.
  36.  
  37. There's something surreal about driving for miles with no one around, pulling into a small convenience store and seeing a ton of beautiful young Russian girls smiling at you while some stupid fuck sings homosexually about Jesus over an intercom.
  38.  
  39. On this occasion, I pulled up to the store with anticipation. At 7 am, I could really use a good cup of coffee and a couple of beautiful girls smiling at me.
  40.  
  41. I open the door and the familiar ring of the entrance bell announces my arrival. Vasilisa, the oldest of these magnificent creatures, greets me from behind the counter with a genial smile, her luminous blue eyes still bleary from her recent slumber.
  42.  
  43. "Favor?" She says. I'm not exactly sure what she wants. "Sure, what can I do?"
  44.  
  45. She steps from behind the registers. She's naked from the waist down. Her huge mound of matted, unkempt pubic hair is the only thing that draws my attention from the fact that she has a long string dangling from her vagina.
  46.  
  47. "Tampon. Ples help." Goddammit. I'm oddly aroused, my dick pressing against my pants zipper as if to say yes, go forth and conquer this exotic crimson vagina.
  48.  
  49. Pleadingly, she looks at me. "Pull."
  50.  
  51. So I pull the string. Gently. It won't budge. More firmly. Still stuck. Harder still. It's as if her vagina were a vice grip. How tight was this bitch? I certainly had to find out. I pull with all the strength I can muster and, with a cacophonous SLURP, the tampon breaks free. Blood gushes from her vagina like a fountain.
  52.  
  53. Horrified, she screams. I have to do something. I throw her to the floor and put my dick in her ensanguined vagina. God is it fucking tight. I fuck the hell out of her, hoping I can cum right as she loses consciousness or dies. With each plunge of my fuck hammer, satisfying wet slurpy blood queefs exit her fuckhole. She's turning pale, eyes rolling back. I am so fucking close.
  54.  
  55. Then, she's out cold. I feel for a pulse. Dead. Her vaginal muscles relax and her bowels evacuate the remaining feculence that they held back. I can't cum. She's not tight.
  56.  
  57. So I pull my dick out, remove the blood clot stuck in my urethra, and press into her begrimed virginal asshole. I enter easily. Much nicer. Her liquid shit provides plenty of lubrication. Her little balloon knot swallowing my cock repeatedly is beautiful. I reach over and hold her lifeless hand. AT&T. Reach out and touch someone.
  58.  
  59. Pool Party
  60.  
  61. When I was 15, my mom invited my cousin over for a pool party for my birthday. She brought a friend, Shawna. I immediately fell for her. She had auburn hair, hazel eyes and a beautiful smile. She was wearing a tiny bikini that showed off her perfect ass and her amazing tits.
  62.  
  63. We stayed in the pool for most of the day and Shawna kept rubbing up against me. It was driving me absolutely crazy. I was so hard I felt like I was going to explode. With each "bump," she brushed my cock. I know she knew I had a hard on.
  64.  
  65. After about an hour of this, I couldn't take it any more. Then next time she tried it, I grabbed her hand, smiled, and put it down my bathing suit. She retracted in horror. Fucking cocktease.
  66.  
  67. I'd have none of this. I told my mom to go get us some snacks so we'd be alone. I pulled my shorts off, pushed Shawna under the water, and forced my rock hard member into her agape mouth. I knew she couldn't breathe. I just kept mouthfucking her. And then she bit my cock. I jump out of the water and pull her out with me. Blood is dripping from the end of my dick. Fucking bitch.
  68.  
  69. I take her into the woods behind our house, throw her to the ground. I flip her over, rip off her bathing suit bottoms. She starts to scream. I smash her head in with a rock. And then I put my fist into her dead asshole. Reaming this hot little cunt's shithole was an awesome birthday present. I put my dick in her ass along with my hand. I jacked myself off in her ass. God, that was awesome. Her asshole ripped, but I figured she wasn't going to be using it for anything anymore so fuck it.
  70.  
  71. When I got done, I noticed that a crowd had formed. All the people from my party were standing around watching me anally violate this beautiful corpse. They just gathered around. Gather 'round the good stuff. Pizza Hut.
  72.  
  73. Cats
  74.  
  75. My neighbor was an old woman who had about 20 cats. Her husband, at the virile age of 70, just up and left her one day, so she decided to move out of her old ramshackle house into an apartment. Except, she left the cats at her old house with no one to look after or take care of them.
  76.  
  77. Fast forward about a year or so. These cats have been breeding like crazy, foraging for food, and are now basically completely feral. All summer long, I'd hear cats mating, screaming, fighting. They hunted birds, shit all over our yard. Fucking cats everywhere.
  78.  
  79. That was it. We called animal control to come over and take care of the problem. They said they'd set humane traps and check them several times a day. In the first day, they caught 6 cats.
  80.  
  81. A couple weeks later, we stopped seeing any cats at all. The trees seemed full of birds now. Our yard wasn't covered in feces, and I wasn't subjected to the mating rituals of the feline variety every time I walked outside. I got bored one day and decided to go check out the old woman's house. Well, it wasn't so much a house as much as a pile of old wood with a door held by a single hinge on it. The roof was nearly caved in, the windows were broken. I walked right in.
  82.  
  83. The first thing I smelled was ammonia. Piss. There must have been gallons of it soaked into the old floorboards. In one corner of the kitchen was a mountain of shit. Oddly, I found myself hoping that it was cat shit. I had to convince myself to continue despite the smell. I walked into the hallway and approached the single bedroom the house had. I turned the doorknob and the door creaked open slowly.
  84.  
  85. And there was the old man. Or what was left of him. He sat precariously in a recliner beside the bed. His skin had begun to dry out and retract, his eye sockets sunken in so deeply it appeared as though he never had any eyes at all. Wisps of sparse gray hair spotted what remained of the skin covering his skull.
  86.  
  87. At his feet, a suitcase rested. Inside, a hodgepodge of clothing that went out of style sometime in the late 1960s was seemingly thrown together in a hurry. And a loaded revolver. One chamber empty. I pondered the significance of the gun. Had he intended to kill someone? Himself?
  88.  
  89. Then I saw it. A photo album.
  90.  
  91. Inside were photos of his wife when she was much younger. But not just any photos. Every photo had her in an absolutely humiliating situation. Getting pissed on. Shit on. Sitting on the toilet, crying. There were at least 20 pictures of her servicing 4 men at once.
  92.  
  93. I hate to admit it, but I was aroused. I make no excuses. My fucked up childhood has given me a really fucked up view of the world, especially women. I can only get off if they are being humiliated. This was like the ultimate porn stash for me.
  94.  
  95. My dick was so hard it was about to explode. I took off my pants and started jerking off furiously. I got to a section of photos of her just crying, naked. Unbelievably hot. I almost lost it. Then I had an amazing idea. I walked over to the old man. I put my raging purple fuckstick in his decrepit mouth. And I fucked this corpse's rotting mouth. At first, it hurt. Teeth fell out. Then odd black fluid, probably old blood. I was in ecstasy. I felt climax approaching. As my midsection warmed with anticipation, I grabbed the ghastly skull and went in as far as I could. I must have ejaculated a gallon.
  96.  
  97. I couldn't believe I just did that. I stood there, dumbfounded at what I was capable of when aroused. And that's when he spoke. "Ki-- kiiillll meee."
  98.  
  99. The fucker wasn't dead. Goddammit. His teeth are all over the floor. Time to get some Polident. You'll forget you're wearing dentures.
  100.  
  101. Video
  102.  
  103. Hammered. Both my mom and my dad are hopeless alcoholics. I used to come home from school and find my mom sprawled out naked on the couch, passed out with bottles all around. My dad would usually be in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet, puking his guts out, screaming about how I was a worthless piece of shit.
  104. Indeed, I had a pretty fucked up childhood. Every morning when he first woke up my dad apologized for what he was about to do and cried about how he couldn't help it. Then he'd get blind drunk for the rest of the day.
  105.  
  106. My mom, on the other hand, rarely even had a sober moment. We survived by my dad whoring her out. Countless men came over to our house, fucked my passed out mom, dropped a $10 on the dining table and left. Day in and day out, I watched my mom get used like a jizz rag to support their drinking habit.
  107.  
  108. I was always hungry. I ended up stealing food from the local grocery store. I got caught once, but the store owner knew my story, felt sorry for me, and let me go.
  109.  
  110. In high school, I met a wonderful girl. I'll call her Lori. Her parents were alcoholics, too, and she knew I came from a bad home. We hung out after school, vented our frustrations, cried together. Finally, there was someone who understood what I was going through.
  111.  
  112. We wanted to run away together. We talked about it for awhile, but never got the courage up to go through with it. That is, until the day my dad beat the living shit out of me because he ran out of beer and there was no money left.
  113.  
  114. So, at 2am, bloodied, two black eyes, and likely a couple of broken ribs, I hobbled to Lori's house. I'd never been inside. I pounded on the door. And it swung open, unlocked, not even latched.
  115.  
  116. I walk inside and I smell shit. Not figuratively. I actually smell human waste as if I had just entered an open sewer. "Hello?"
  117.  
  118. I hear muffled yells coming from the room adjacent to the kitchen. I walk toward them. And that's when I see it. There's Lori, strapped to a large spinning wheel, wearing only a leather collar. Her dad is there. He has a tube shoved in her throat, pumping some sort of vile-looking liquid into his daughter's swollen tummy. Her mom is sitting on the couch, sobbing, naked. A video camera is recording it all.
  119.  
  120. Then it happens.
  121.  
  122. "Shit, you worthless cunt! Shit!" Lori lets out a muffled scream, more of a gurgle and what appears to be curdled milk spurts from her throat. I see her abdominal muscles clench. A stream of liquid shit spurts forward from her ass. Her dad squeals with delight, hits the floor kneeling, and opens his mouth to catch the brown filth.
  123.  
  124. I vomit. Lori sees me, her mom jumps up. Dad laughs maniacally. Knocks over the video camera. The video tape pops out. It's a Memorex. Is it live or is it Memorex?
  125.  
  126. Hunting
  127.  
  128. My senior year in high school, my grandmother was intent on spending as much time with me as possible before I headed off to college and began my life as an adult. She planned several trips for our family coinciding with my breaks from school.
  129.  
  130. Over winter break, she booked us all in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. The only thing around was a stream and miles of wilderness. She said the point was for us all to get away from the hustle of daily life and enjoy nature.
  131.  
  132. My grandfather was right at home. Since retiring, he spent most of his time alone in the woods. "Hunting," he called it. But he never shot at anything or brought anything home. He'd get up before sunrise, he'd spend nearly all day out in the woods by himself, and he'd return home around time for the sun to set. I think he just went to get away from my grandmother's constant nagging.
  133.  
  134. So here we are, in the middle of nowhere. It's the middle of winter so everything is dead. The ground is ice covered. The stream is frozen. There aren't even any birds singing. Just dead quiet.
  135.  
  136. My grandfather seemed much more at ease than normal. He and I sat up late and talked while everyone else was asleep. We'd talk for hours about his first love, his experience during the Korean War, how his brother died. He spent a lot of time on that last point.
  137.  
  138. My great uncle was a happy-go-lucky kind of guy. Always joking around, always laughing. The kind of guy you like to have around when you're having a bad day. He'd gone through a series of marriages that all ended after his wife caught him sleeping around. After his fourth wife left, he walked out to his car and blew his brains out with a 12 gauge shotgun.
  139.  
  140. My grandfather told me about how he didn't want to get any older. He was considering suicide. That's what he spent all day in the woods thinking about.
  141.  
  142. I wasn't really sure what to say. After all, I couldn't blame the guy. His health was failing, his wife was a huge nag, and it's not as if he had a lot of years ahead of him to look forward to.
  143.  
  144. I didn't sleep at all that night. I wasn't so much worried about him going through with it as I was having to go to a funeral and dealing with all the bullshit sympathy people try to show when you've lost someone close.
  145. The next morning, my grandpa went walking alone. At around 6:45am, the pervasive silence was broken by the sound of a gunshot. I knew he was gone.
  146.  
  147. I got out of bed and walked through the woods. For 2 hours, I searched for my grandfather's body. And then I found it.
  148.  
  149. There was no note. Just a frail old body, covered in brain matter and blood. A .38 special handgun lay next to the gruesome cadaver. He was gone.
  150.  
  151. I could think of no way to honor my grandfather's life and all he had done for me to make me who I am today. I was at once proud of the man who'd lived his life mostly for others while simultaneously disgusted at his abdication of freedom to reach his real potential. This last thought infected my mind. Slowly but surely, I began to hate this man. What he had become. A sad bag of useless shit.
  152.  
  153. I pushed his body around a bit. I'd never seen a suicide before. There was surprisingly little blood. I fingered the bullet hole in his head. It smelled like iron, what I've come to recognize as the ever-familiar scent of blood. I began to become aroused.
  154.  
  155. My penis was becoming engorged. I was very confused. Why does this get me hard? Then my tribute to my grandfather became readily apparent.
  156.  
  157. I removed my pants. My raging hard meat sword swelled even more with anticipation. I pressed the aching purple head against the bullet wound. And I fucked my grandfather's brain. Slowly at first. I had to remove skull fragments a couple time because they cut my cock. I began to pick up pace.
  158.  
  159. I laid his head against the ground and fucked it like there was no tomorrow. With each thrust, his head hit the ground with a satisfying thud. The old familiar feeling swelled in my balls. I couldn't hold back. I ejaculated my fuckjuice into this decrepit old man's brain. I'm glad he's dead. Excedrin. The headache medicine.
  160.  
  161. Bugs
  162.  
  163. My wife and I bought our first house back in 2007. It probably wasn't the best choice with the crazy housing market at the time, but we had been married for some time, had been saving our money up, and were looking for a place of our own.
  164.  
  165. We found the perfect little house with a nice picket fence on the corner of a nice neighborhood.
  166.  
  167. We moved in on a Monday and by Wednesday, we knew why the previous owners were so anxious to sell. Loud neighbors, faulty phone wiring, a yard that flooded easily. But the worst was the bugs.
  168.  
  169. Holy shit, the bugs.
  170.  
  171. After having a giant black widow plant itself on her face while she was in the shower, my wife refused to stay another day. Headed to a hotel, she packed a bag and told me to call an exterminator. And so I did.
  172.  
  173. Anxiously, I awaited his arrival. He was late. 3:30 that afternoon, they said. 4:00 rolls around. 4:30. And up rolls a shitty white van that looked like it had been in more than a dozen “minor” traffic accidents. Wonderful.
  174.  
  175. For some reason, I expected some fat slob smoking a cigarette, a giant stain on his shirt from eating a couple meatball subs at lunch. Instead, out stepped a stunning brunette with giant tits and shirt about 2 sizes too small. Her pants hugged her ass so tightly I could see the outline of her panties.
  176.  
  177. “Sorry I'm late. The last place was a nightmare.”
  178.  
  179. “That's fine – this place isn't in too good of shape, either.”
  180.  
  181. “Let's see what we got.”
  182.  
  183. I take her inside. She does the standard inspection. Corners, window sills, behind the stove, around the doors.
  184.  
  185. “Yep, it's pretty bad. We can treat today, but I recommend our total protection plan...”
  186.  
  187. “Look, I don't want to be sold anything. I just want these bugs fucking gone. My wife is at a hotel now because they're so bad. What can you do today?”
  188.  
  189. “Ok, ok. I'll get my stuff and be right back.”
  190.  
  191. And I realized it was time.
  192.  
  193. I took off all my clothes except for my shoes. I was so excited my cock was throbbing with anticipating, gobs of  pre-cum dripping down to my nutsack so profusely it was leaving a puddle.
  194.  
  195. The door opens. A look of confusion. Then embarrassment. Then horror. She recoils, but it's too late. I'm already on her, the poison sprayer end in her mouth.
  196.  
  197. “Drink it, whore.”
  198.  
  199. Her eyes plead with me to stop. But I've just begun. I rip off her uniform.
  200.  
  201. I slam my fuckstick into her quivering mouth. I push further. Her throat won't open. My unyielding cock is so hard it's about to explode. Then burning. Holy fuck, burning. The bug toxin is running out of her mouth down my shaft. And then vomit. The room smells like stomach acid.
  202.  
  203. Spiders gather. All around. I stuff a couple in her cunt while she screams.
  204.  
  205. “It's ok, bitch. Here's the poison.”
  206.  
  207. Her cunt filled with bug spray, the only fuck hole I haven't violated is her asshole. And she apparently doesn't wipe too well. Hemorrhoids. Fuck, the hemorrhoids on this bitch. I bite them. Blood squirts from her filthy shithole. Pulling myself from her violated ass cheeks. I smile at her and say “you should have used Preparation H.”
  208. Sheets
  209.  
  210. When I was a kid, I used to wake up with blood all over my sheets. I had no idea where it was coming from. I thought I was being abducted by aliens or something at night. I even had vivid dreams of being kidnapped and of seeing things in my room.
  211.  
  212. One night, I was sleep walking. I walked up to the closet next to my parent's bedroom and started banging on the door. "I'M TEARING THE HOUSE DOWN," I screamed. My dad runs out of their room, grabs me and asks me what I want. "My toy. I can't find my toy."
  213. My mom walks me back to my room. "What toy?" she asks. "My toy, I can't find it."
  214. The next morning, I awoke with my earlobe torn open where it attaches to my ear. There was blood everywhere. How did I nearly rip my ear off and not wake up?
  215.  
  216. Years later, when I was in college, my dad admitted that he drugged me. A lot. So I'd pass out and he could fuck my mom.
  217.  
  218. I wasn't mad. I was curious. Where did he get the drugs and how did he administer them? I'll spare you the details, but I asked for some and he wasn't really in a position to be able to refuse.
  219. There was a girl in one of my classes that I had my eye on for some time. A gorgeous blonde with a tight little ass. She wore glasses, but her cobalt blue eyes were always peeking from above them, staring right into your soul. She was a goddess. So I fucking drugged her.
  220.  
  221. I managed to get her out into the school's commuter parking lot and get her into my car. She was completely out of it by the time we got to my apartment. I dragged her inside, took off her clothes, and tied her to my bed. I drenched her nubile body in some cooking oil, paying careful attention to tweaking her pink nipples to get them nice and hard.
  222.  
  223. I taped up garbage bags on all the windows so the room was completely dark. I took off my clothes and I laid next to her. She smelled amazing. I sniffed her cunt. The scent was intoxicating.
  224. Still out cold. Did I give her too much? Now I'm afraid. Afraid that I have gone too far, scared that I've become a monster. There's no turning back. I will never have a relationship again where I don't remember what I'm about to do. I sob uncontrollably.
  225.  
  226. Fuck it. I'm not going to pussy out now. Too late to turn back. I set up my video camera, turn on a strobe light, and straddle her perfect body. I squat over her stomach. I massage her perfect tits. And I squeeze out a large shit right on her belly. I'm so fucking hard now. With each undulation of my bowels, forth comes an obscene quantity of brown ass mud, covering her belly with my shit essence.
  227.  
  228. I'm so close now. If I even move, I'll explode. I aim my raging cock at her face and gush more cum than I ever have in my life. Her face is covered in my ejaculate. Little bubbles of air appear with each exhalation. I love her. But I can't keep her.
  229.  
  230. I untie my fecal companion. I smile. And she smiles back.
  231.  
  232. My dad's "drugs" were fake. But she played along. She knew what I was trying to do.
  233.  
  234. "I thought you were going to fuck me" she said.
  235.  
  236. Rage. Anger. I can't even do this right. I grab my pocket knife. I jam it into my cock. She screams with delight, grabs my mangled member and puts it in her mouth. Blood gushes from my cock. She tongues my new dick hole. I cum buckets. I finger her asshole but she screams "more! more." Put whole fist in her ass. Go deeper. She moans. Something rips. She cums. And dies.
  237.  
  238. And that is How I Met Your Mother.
  239. License
  240.  
  241. When I first got my driver's license, I was so excited. It was my passport to an actual social life.
  242.  
  243. Most families around where I grew up were poor so very few of the guys at my school had a car. I inherited my dad's old Camaro. Bright yellow, black leather interior. As loud as it was unsafe.
  244.  
  245. Samantha was the slutty blonde cheerleader who rumor had it blew the whole football team once before a homecoming game. She wore low cut tops, short skirts - often with no underwear. The jealous old bags that taught at my school routinely sent her home for dress code violations. A totally trashy slut. The perfect girl to blow my first non-masturbatory load into.
  246.  
  247. A girl like Samantha, you don't even really need to ask out. If she wants to fuck you any conversation that leads up to that is just a useless ceremony. That bitch would have probably said yes if all I asked was "wanna fuck?"
  248.  
  249. I had her head in my lap sucking my cock within 10 minutes of picking her up at her house.
  250.  
  251. Being new at driving and awesome roadhead, I could barely maneuver the deserted back roads while she polished my knob. I decided to pull onto one of those dirt roads you sometimes see that disappear into thick overgrowth as though they'd been forgotten about for a couple decades.
  252.  
  253. I grab the back of her head and push down as hard as I can. A slut she may be, but she'd never had a cock this far down her throat. And I feel the "pop." My dick breaks through her throatpussy hymen. I'm not facefucking her. I'm fucking her digestive system. And it feels amazing.
  254.  
  255. She vomits. Fuck, the feeling of sweet slut rumination running down your balls is at once unnerving and electrifying.
  256.  
  257. She pulls away, the inevitable throatfuck tears flowing profusely down her cheeks, smearing her eye makeup. She looks like she has two black eyes. That makes me even fucking harder.
  258.  
  259. "Get out of the car, bitch."
  260.  
  261. But I'm not leaving her. I choke her into unconsciousness. I place her face against my driver's side rear tire. And I back my car over her face.
  262.  
  263. What's left is a pile of broken bones, the skin looking like silly putty with tire treads in it, the whole mess covered in hair and blood. The beautiful congealing blood. I rub my aching fuckstick against this tire-imprinted face skin. Holy shit that feels good. The ridges. RRRuffles Have Ridges!
  264. Subway
  265.  
  266. There was a man, Derek, who lived next door to me a few years back who used to tell me about all the crazy shit that happened on the subway in New York.
  267.  
  268. He rode every day. He encountered homeless schizophrenics on a daily basis. One particular story has stuck with me for all these years.
  269.  
  270. Late to work, Derek hurriedly boarded the train while calling his boss on his cell phone. He sat down in the nearest seat and noticed a homeless guy sitting nearby, talking to himself. And he noticed the smell. Like rotting onions and garlic. He couldn't help but stare.
  271.  
  272. The homeless guy stared right back, but with a huge smile that revealed his toothless gums. And then a cackle. "You motherfucker, you finally did it! Hahaha!"
  273.  
  274. Well, Derek didn't know what to do. He sat uncomfortably for a few minutes, trying to avoid eye contact. And the guy moved closer. The smell was more pungent than ever. Derek got up to move.
  275.  
  276. "Move and you die."
  277.  
  278. Well shit. There was no way of knowing whether this guy had a gun or a knife. So Derek just stayed put, even past his stop. A standoff of heightening fear and seemingly unbridled insanity ensued for well over an hour. Derek just staring forward, the putrid homeless guy just breathing heavily and smiling at him.
  279.  
  280. Then the homeless guy pulled a gun from his torn jacket pocket. He put the barrel in his mouth. He squeezed the trigger. The flash of the gunshot was tinged pink by the mist of blood and brain particles that issued forth from this man's hair-matted skull. A dreadful thud as his lifeless corpse hit the floor.
  281.  
  282. This disgusting homeless fuck. He knew. Derek did finally do it. He was late to work that morning because disposing of his wife's lifeless body took longer than he had expected. The human body holds a remarkably small amount of blood, but blood is thick and doesn't clean up easily.
  283.  
  284. He had started at 3am when she was asleep. He beat her face in with the end of a claw hammer. Three blows should have been enough, but he spent well over an hour turning her face into a disarrayed mess of blood, bones, hair, teeth. And when he was done, he broke her pelvis. Her fucking whore pelvis. And he had to have one last go at his wife's asshole. In 10 years of marriage, not once had she ever let him pop her anal cherry. Oh sure, he'd tried to slip it in a couple times, but to no avail. And now it was his for the taking.
  285.  
  286. For 2 hours he fucked her fetid shithole. He'd bring himself close to climax and stop. His balls were boiling with anticipation and, finally, he dumped his angry load into her bowels. Gallons of pent-up, frustrated man juice finally released into his whore wife's last remaining frontier. Conquest. 1492: Conquest of Paradise.
  287. Field Trip
  288.  
  289. In high school, I took a school field trip to our nation's capital.
  290.  
  291. I was an unassertive, reserved kid. I didn't really have any friends. This trip was the first time I had been anywhere over night without my family.
  292.  
  293. We all stayed in a cheap hotel, three of us to a room. No one wanted me in their group, so I got stuck with two guys who didn't have a third. There were only two beds. I ended up sleeping on the disgusting floor.
  294.  
  295. I was infatuated with a girl in several of my classes. All I could think about the entire trip was sneaking into her room and fucking her. Lincoln Memorial? Washington Monument? I don't remember them. I just remember staring at beautiful Erin the whole time. Imagining how she smelled. The touch of her skin. The warmth of her body against mine.
  296.  
  297. It was all a fantasy, of course. I'd never get up the courage to go over to her room and, even if I did, there was a teacher on constant surveillance of our hallway.
  298.  
  299. When night did come, I couldn't sleep at all. The unyielding, cold floor was the least of my problems. The pulsating, aching erection in my pants pleaded with me for release. I masturbated fervently, imagining Erin's sweet pussy lips wrapped around my cock, burying my face in her ample bosom.
  300.  
  301. "Are you fucking jacking off?" Shit. I got caught.
  302.  
  303. "I can't help it. I've been thinking about Erin all fucking day and all I want to do is fuck her. I can't sleep. Give me a break."
  304.  
  305. I turned over to hide my humiliation. I guess I finally did drift off because the next thing I know, Erin is standing at my feet, snickering at me. These fuckers smuggled her in somehow.
  306.  
  307. Anger. Blinding, unbridled rage. I jump to my feet and punch the elephantine fuck closest to her in the eye. He goes down with a dull bellow. I kick him in the back of the neck and his head snaps back like a Pez dispenser.
  308.  
  309. The lanky little shit over in the corner looks at me with dread in his eyes. "It was just a joke, man!" Too fucking late. Smash his face in with my knee. Blood everywhere.
  310.  
  311. Erin is shaking, sobbing. I try to comfort her but she's too scared. I don't even have a chance with her now. May as well go for it.
  312.  
  313. I throw her to the floor. I hold her arms behind her head. I pull off her pants. "Stop! Stop! No!" she pleads. I place my hand over her mouth. Tears streaming down her face. “You stupid fucking cunt! I love you! Shut up!”
  314.  
  315. I put my hand to her throat. I squeeze. Her life is up to me now. This beautiful creature's life is all mine.
  316.  
  317. And I take it.
  318.  
  319. Her relinquished corpse lies inanimate beneath me. Unknowingly and against her will, she's given me the ultimate gift. Yet I'm still not done taking.
  320.  
  321. Her bowels have released their pent-up horror. Liquid shit is running down her tight ass. She looks even more amazing now than she ever had.
  322.  
  323. I push my raging hard fuck stick against her virgin pussy lips. I push into her. I feel her hymen pop. I was the first to penetrate her sacred fuckhole.
  324.  
  325. But it's too fucking dry.
  326.  
  327. I grab a handful of her feces and smear it onto my purple fuck rod but am taken aback by how cold her shit is. Surprisingly cold. But it'll do.
  328.  
  329. Over the next few hours, I copulated with her spent cadaver again and again. Each time I came, I punched her face with a satisfying thud. By dawn, her face was just a disarrayed mess of skin, hair and bones. Milk Bone. Cleans teeth, freshens breath naturally.
  330. Double Dare
  331.  
  332. Double Dare was awesome. Marc Summers was my idol for quite some time but my dad hated him. "He laughs like a fag."
  333.  
  334. Little did I know that my dad was an extreme homophobe. Just a little too homophobic, in fact.
  335.  
  336. In high school, I became ill one spring day on the drive in, so I just turned around and went back home. My dad usually left for work after I departed for school, but I noticed his truck was still in our driveway. Unusual.
  337.  
  338. I approached the truck and noticed that there was some guy with his head in my dad's lap, bobbing up and down. WTF? Just then, my father's eyes locked with mine. He was at the point of no return and about to cum. He threw his head back, ejaculated, and threw the guy off of him. In an instant, he had his truck in gear, skidding tires down our road.
  339.  
  340. That evening, he wouldn't even look at me. After dinner, he pulled me aside and told me that what I saw was just between us and it was okay because he "murdered the fucking queer" afterward.
  341.  
  342. A couple months go by and I had put this incident out of my mind. After all, my childhood was pretty fucked up anyway and this was mild compared to some of the stuff I'd experienced.
  343.  
  344. I worked part time during the summer at the local grocery store as a "closing bag boy." That basically meant I did all the shit work to close the store while also trying to bag customer's groceries. It also meant that I was at work until about midnight every evening.
  345.  
  346. Leaving work one evening, what I thought was a homeless man approached me. His clothes torn, giant grease stains on his cut-off shorts, wearing sandals whose straps were threadbare. "You MOTHERFUCKER!" he screamed.
  347.  
  348. "What?"
  349.  
  350. Through bleary eyes, he tells me about how my dad viciously murdered his son and dumped his body in the local river, all in broad daylight.
  351.  
  352. I assumed these were the drunken ramblings of a man whose mind had long ago succumbed to mental illness. But then I remembered that morning in the driveway.
  353.  
  354. "Fuck off. Here's $5. Go buy a couple 40s and pass out somewhere."
  355.  
  356. The drive home was brief. After all, I only lived about 2 miles away. My parents were normally asleep when I got home.  But tonight was different. The lights were on.
  357.  
  358. I walked into the house and saw my dad sitting at the kitchen table, crying his eyes out. Mom had left us.
  359.  
  360. "Dad, did you kill that man that morning from the driveway?"
  361.  
  362. "Yes, son. I did. I had to hide my shame."
  363.  
  364. "Are you gay?"
  365.  
  366. "Not any more."
  367.  
  368. That evening, with a dull kitchen knife, my dad removed his genitals. He and my mom got into a fight about how he always wanted to stick it in her ass, how he wanted her to have short hair and wear baggy clothing. She called him a faggot and he admitted it. And he made her watch as he cut off his testicles and severed his cock. He fed the ghastly parts to our dog.
  369.  
  370. "Well, dad, I guess now you have to be a bottom."
  371.  
  372. "Yeah son. I guess I do."
  373.  
  374. We shared a beer. When you say Budweiser, you've said it all.
  375. Film
  376.  
  377. I developed an interest in photography when I was in college. This was during the time when digital wasn't quite up to par yet, so most serious photographers used film. I had a couple cameras I bought off of eBay,  a tripod, and 20 rolls of film stored in my dorm room in case there was a storm. I took photos of people, but my real passion was photographing lightning.
  378.  
  379. If you don't know, lightning photography generally involves keeping your shutter open and just hoping to catch a bolt or two before overexposing the frame. Using film, you could easily go through many rolls of film without any keepers and you might not even know it until you visited the photo lab.
  380.  
  381. I'd sit out in the rain like an idiot with my camera, umbrella overhead, taking photos of severe storms.
  382.  
  383. One particularly humid evening, we had a line of storms coming our way. There was even potential for a tornado. I readied my equipment and explained to my roommate, Pete, an electrical engineering major, for the tenth time why I enjoy standing in the rain with my camera. Then I waited. This particular evening was going to be much more eventful than I had imagined.
  384.  
  385. At 7pm, the sky darkened, the wind started howling, and in rolled the first of the line of storms. I ran outside, set up everything, and just sat in quiet anticipation. A torrential downpour ensued. And the first few bolts of lightning lit up the sky.
  386.  
  387. For over an hour, I stood in the rain, exposing all 20 rolls of my film, just hoping to get one good photo. My efforts were rewarded by a large bolt striking a tree about 20 feet away from me.
  388.  
  389. I was thrown to the ground. My body buzzed, my ears rang. I smelled burning hair. And I couldn't move. I tried to scream. No sound would come out. I thought I was dying.
  390.  
  391. After what seems like an eternity, I see a figure out of the corner of my eye. A feminine figure. As it gets closer, I see it's my roommate's girlfriend, Cheryl. She looks horrified. She runs to my side, asks if I'm ok, but I can't even speak. As if I had a choice, she told me not to move and that she'd be right back.
  392.  
  393. Minutes later, she returns with Pete. He laughs at the sorry sight he sees before him. "You dumbass. Guess you won't do that shit anymore."
  394.  
  395. Why haven't they called someone?
  396.  
  397. "You don't fuck with nature. You oughta know that."
  398.  
  399. With that, my roommate removed his pants. His disgusting, hole-filled plaid boxers lost their fly button long ago. His flaccid, uncircumcised dick peaked precariously from the opening. "Here, eat some dick cheese. That'll make you feel better."
  400.  
  401. He pulls back his foreskin. Ridiculous amounts of smegma hang from the end of his hardening fuck pole. He put his cock in my mouth. I lose consciousness.
  402.  
  403. I awaken to a humming. Not just a faint buzz. An all-encompassing, horrible vibration that flowed through my whole body. I found it hard to focus. And then I see my naked self in the mirror across the room. Cheryl's on a ladder, a Dewalt drill in her hand. She's drilling a hole into my skull. Oddly, it didn't hurt. The painlessness compounded by the ridiculousness of the situation convinced me that this was all a dream. I didn't panic.
  404.  
  405. Pete steps up to the ladder. He puts some electrodes into the hole in my head. Fires up a crudely-wired device. Instantly, I have the hardest erection of my entire life. Cheryl's on her knees. She's already readied her asshole. It gapes inches from my electrically-induced erection. And then she engulfs my meatstick with her cavernous shithole. I ejaculate in a matter of seconds. She pulls off, shits diarrhea and cum onto the floor. As she begins tonguing the horrid mixture, I wonder if I got any good photos. Kodak: For the times of your Life.
  406. Haircut
  407.  
  408. This is why I cut my own hair.
  409.  
  410. When I was about 13 or so, I started realizing that I was "different." Yes, I already knew I was socially awkward and hated the day-to-day dealings with people. Pointless social interaction was the bane of my existence. But I also realized that, while the other guys my age were interested in girls their own age, I was more interested in much older women.
  411.  
  412. My regular hair stylist was a dumb as bricks 30-something high-school drop out. Bleach blonde hair, humongous tits, and a smile that could make your worst day ever actually bearable. I never really spoke much to her. I just sat in the chair, staring at her bosom, trying to hide my erection below the barber cape. She smelled like lavender and vanilla.
  413.  
  414. As she got older, she became more attractive and I became much more comfortable with her. My mere infatuation with her body developed into an actual attraction. I thought about her on a regular basis. My frequent awkward virgin masturbation sessions very often featured intricate fantasies about her.
  415.  
  416. After 6 years of boner-inducing haircuts, it was time for me to move off to college. I told her this would probably be the last time I'd see her. She actually teared up a bit.
  417.  
  418. The haircut was pretty uneventful, but she really didn't speak much. I was the last customer of the day, so the shop was pretty silent except for the snip of scissors and the faint sound of rain on the window sills. After finishing up the cut and blow drying my hair, she just stood there, staring at me in the mirror. I smiled uncomfortably to break the awkward silence.
  419.  
  420. She breaks the silence abruptly. "I'm really going to miss you. You're my best customer!"
  421.  
  422. With that, she removes the barber cape, brushes my neck off, and gives me a peck on the cheek. And she notices the bulge in my pants.
  423.  
  424. "My, it looks like you are really going to miss me, too!"
  425.  
  426. I turned beet red. Before I can even react, she has her hand in my lap, stroking my throbbing, engorged member through my jeans. "Looks like you're all grown up now."
  427.  
  428. The blood is pounding my my head. My heart is beating so rapidly I feel like I'm going to have a heart attack.
  429.  
  430. I'm not even really sure what happened over the next 15 minutes or so. The next thing I know, we're both naked in the perm waiting area. She's straddled over me, riding me like there's no tomorrow. She climaxes several times. Each time her vagina tightens so intensely that it feels like she's going to crush my cock. As I near orgasm, she stops, pulls off with an audible slurp, and says "hold on... don't cum yet."
  431.  
  432. She leaves the room and returns with the blue jar of Barbicide. She splashes it in my face. I can't see and the fumes make it hard to breathe. I then I feel a sharp, searing pain in my penis. Through bleary eyes, I can see that she's got her scissors out and she's inserted one of the blades into my urethra. She fucks my piss hole with the sharp blade for a couple second and, with a giddy smile, grabs the handle and cuts.
  433.  
  434. Blood everywhere. I scream in agony. She mounts my mutilated cock. With each violent thrust, my cock throbs with pain and anticipation. She presses her perfect breasts into my face. The line between pain and pleasure doesn't even exist any more. I cum nearly a gallon. She smiles at me. Tells me she loves me. Asks if I need a Band-Aid. I am stuck on Band-Aids and Band-Aid's stuck on me.
  435. Window
  436.  
  437. I had a girlfriend in college. Her name was Ann. She had an average looking face but a perfect, tight little body. Tiny tits with the perkiest pink nipples I've ever seen. Amazing in the sack.
  438. She lived in some shitty apartments near campus. Every Friday and Saturday night, the people on the bottom floor in the building adjacent to hers had a massive, loud party. The back room didn't have any blinds and people would go back there to fuck. Her favorite weekend activity would be to just sit by her bedroom window and watch these anonymous strangers drunkenly fucking each other. She'd get worked up, have me bend her over in front of the window, and fuck her doggy style while she watched these people fuck each other's brains out. Accordingly, I not only approved of but also encouraged her hobby. Every weekend, I got a dripping wet, tight pussy to fuck and free porn with no effort.
  439. We watched with such frequency that we began to recognize the regulars. Mostly guys. One guy we both eagerly anticipated getting to work was particularly rough with the girls. He'd throw them on the bed, shove his cock in their throat for a few minutes, and violently fuck them. He also seemed to particularly enjoy anal sex. This guy's talent at getting hot, drunk college girls to take his admittedly large dick into their shitter was amazing. Sometimes things got messy. But Ann and I absolutely loved this guy's antics.
  440. Ann started becoming more interested in taking me in her asshole. Every time this guy appeared, she lubed up her poop chute and told me to bang her ass. Every time I saw this guy join the party, I knew Ann was going to let me fuck her tight little balloon knot. One night, for 3 hours, Ann had me in her ass. She wanted to see how long she could keep me in there without me ejaculating. I'd fuck her shithole, approach climax, and just back off.
  441. Our voyeuristic fucking went on for two years. I moved in. We had sex almost constantly, but it was the best when those parties happened. Ann wanted us to mirror the people in that room. Especially our favorite guy.
  442. One night, the party was particularly loud. Our favorite fucker pulled a short blonde girl into the room, threw her on the bed, and just went right at it. Slammed her pussy so hard she winced with each thrust. I did the same to Ann. He put his hands to his girl's throat. So did I. He choked her while he fucked her. So did I. He smashed her head into the headboard, rendering her unconscious. So did I. He pulled a knife from the side table and sliced into her trachea. So did I.
  443. He drove her body twenty miles away and dumped it into the local river. So did I.
  444. He cleaned the trunk of his car with Clorox. So did I.
  445. Clorox. Mama's got the magic of Clorox.
  446.  
  447. Guitar
  448.  
  449. When I was in high school, I got interested in music. Specifically, I wanted to learn to play the electric guitar. My family was poor so I couldn't afford lessons, so I got one of those shitty instructor on tape guides.
  450.  
  451. Nightly, I'd go through the lessons. But I just wasn't making any progress. I could play a shitty, slow version of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," but that was about it.
  452.  
  453. One night, I got pissed and threw my garage sale guitar against my flea market special amp. And something wonderful happened. I got interference. I started picking up local ham radio signals.
  454.  
  455. Well fuck music. My new hobby was going to be radio scanning. I saved as much money as possible, sold my guitar and amp, and bought a RadioShack hand-held scanner.
  456.  
  457. Back then, cordless telephone signals worked off of the 900MHz frequency range. And anyone with a scanner within range could listen right in on your conversation.
  458.  
  459. I picked up a woman who was cheating on her husband. She was on the phone with her secret lover. "I didn't let him fuck me, baby. Just fuck my tits." This was pretty awesome stuff for a highschooler.
  460.  
  461. For two months, I listened to this woman's conversations. I found out where she lived and who she was. She was hot, alright. I jerked off furiously while listening to her sexually-charged conversations.
  462.  
  463. Fuck this. Why was I fucking my hand when I could fuck her? All I had to do was tell her I knew all about her little affair. She could suck my cock to shut me up. That's all it would take. What's one more dick?
  464.  
  465. For months, I'd go over for my daily blowjob after school. She tried not to let on, but she started to like it. She even started swallowing my load. "I hate cleaning it up" she said. Right. I guess that made up for her scraping my cock constantly with her teeth.
  466.  
  467. Summer time rolls around. The little slut breaks down over the phone and tells her boyfriend all about me. They plan to kill me. Excellent.
  468.  
  469. The next day, I show up at my normal blowjob time. She greets me at the door with a big smile. Her boyfriend's inside, waiting in the living room to ambush me. We won't even get that far. I pull a .357 revolver from my back pocket, press it to her skull, and squeeze the trigger. Brain matter splatters all over the kitchen.
  470.  
  471. The redneck boyfriend fuck comes running into the kitchen, holding his puny little 9mm semi-auto. I shoot the fucker in the arm. I want him to watch this.
  472.  
  473. I walk over to his girlfriend's dead body. Still warm, of course. I grab her top and bottom teeth with either hand and pull. Her jaw breaks and I'm left with no teeth in the way. I pull out my dick and fuck the soft throat tissue. There's no saliva, just blood. And no gagging, either. Oh well, I think I can still cum.
  474.  
  475. Indeed, I bring myself to the edge. I pull out, kick her disgusting whore corpse to the side, and blow my load onto the floor. And then I make hillbilly Bob eat it at gunpoint. Like the giant pussy he is, he obliges.
  476.  
  477. I tell him to drop his pants. Shaking in fear, he complies. I put the cold, unlubricated barrel of the .357 into his anus. I pull the trigger. He dies pretty quickly, but I'm sure it was painful. Excellent. Advil. For today's tough pain, one is often enough.
  478.  
  479. Gym Teacher
  480.  
  481. In middle school, I had a gym teacher who thought he was the shit because he knew a little C++ and wanted to teach the C++ class at the high school level. He used to write down a bunch of 1s and 0s on his whiteboard in the locker room and ask people what it said.
  482.  
  483. This guy was crazy. He bought icy hot by the gallon. Every day, for some reason, he'd smear it all over the door knobs in the gym and locker room and then laugh about how someone was playing a good prank.
  484.  
  485. One time, the class bully shoved me. I asked him to stop. Mr Crazy Gym Teacher jumped up, got inches from my face, poked me hard in the chest and yelled "OOOH FIGHTING, THAT'S 2 DAYS SUSPENSION." Then he went back into his office and closed the door.
  486.  
  487. At my middle school, once weekly, we had "elective day." That meant that for 30 minutes at the end of every Tuesday we got to take a class or participate in a club of some sort of our choosing. I chose the computer club and this fucker was in charge of it.
  488.  
  489. So, while all the other kids were obsessed with playing educational video games, I wanted to build computers. So, me and this crazy dude are putting together an old 486 for someone and, out of the blue, he asks me if I want to see something "special."
  490.  
  491. Ok... sure. He brings me over to his personal machine. Fires up File Manager (these were the glorious days of Windows 3.1). Opens a folder named "stash."
  492.  
  493. Inside, tons of gifs. Hundreds. He opens a few of them. I'm not sure what I was expecting. Porn, maybe? Nope. He had 200 images in the folder of himself holding various pairs of underwear from lockers in the boys locker room. As he progressed through the images, they got weirder. In some, he was wearing the underwear. In others, he had his face buried in them.
  494.  
  495. "Check this one out."
  496.  
  497. He clicks on the last image in the folder. It's an image of him holding a pair of white Fruit of the Loom briefs, the white cotton in stark contrast to the log of dark brown feces he'd placed there. "Those are yours."
  498.  
  499. With this intimate little peak into his life, he had shown me that he wasn't some crazy gym teacher seeking the approval of a bunch of pre-adolescents. No, he was just a lonely pervert with an underwear and  scat fetish. And he had picked me as the subject of his latest secret perversion. I felt truly honored.
  500.  
  501. Two weeks later, we show up for our morning gym class. We all get changed into our gym uniforms and walk out into the gymnasium. The lights aren't on. Someone flips the switch. And we see our gym teacher hanging from the rafters. In his hand, a pair of white Hanes underwear.
  502.  
  503. Well, naturally, they let school out early that day. We all got to talk with the guidance counselors over the next week or so. Within a couple of days, I convinced my guidance counselor that I was the one that encouraged this man to off himself. I'm not sure why. Maybe I felt like it was a game.
  504.  
  505. My family started getting threatening phone calls. People showed up in the middle of the night, knocked on our door, and left notes about how I destroyed their lives. We found this odd because the gym teacher had no family and no friends as far as we could tell.
  506.  
  507. This experience left a definite impression upon me. Now, as an adult, I love underwear. In fact, I own literally thousands of pairs of brand new men's underwear. Every day, I walk over to my dresser, pick out a pristine, never worn pair and I wear them all day long. I get home after work, I stand in my kitchen, and I have a nice soft bowel movement in the clean underwear. I remove them, careful not to spill any shit on the linoleum. I squish it around through the fabric. The feeling of soft shit through newly manufactured cotton is unmatched. My favorite hobby. Cotton. The fabric of our lives.
  508. Thermostat
  509.  
  510. When I was a kid, my mom, dad and I would go to my grandma's house to visit on the weekends. We used to joke in the car on the way there that we were going to visit the sauna. My grandma kept her house so hot that people would show up in shorts when they visited her in the dead of winter.
  511.  
  512. The situation was exacerbated by the heat of her oven when we'd go over for holiday dinners.
  513.  
  514. I never really thought too much about it. After all, she was old and old people always seem to be cold.
  515.  
  516. One week over winter break, I stayed at my grandma's house while my parents went on a luxury cruise vacation. After the first day, I wanted to sleep outside in the snow. All day long the heat pump ran. She had a fire in the fireplace. I just sat there and drank gallons of water to try to stay cool.
  517.  
  518. Finally, I had enough. I asked her to turn the thermostat down a bit. "No, I can't do that."
  519.  
  520. “Why not?"
  521.  
  522. "Bad things happen in the cold."
  523.  
  524. Senile old woman. Guess it's better to just not press the issue.
  525.  
  526. But by the middle of the week I was so hot and miserable that I was waking up sweating from nightmares of being boiled alive. I had to do something.
  527.  
  528. I opened my bedroom door, walked down the hallway towards my grandma's room. I removed the cover on the thermostat. 90°F it read. I cranked it down to a comfortable 70°. I walked back to my bedroom and fell soundly asleep.
  529.  
  530. That night was the first time I'd had a decent night's sleep all week. I even slept in. Until noon. When I woke up, I found it unusual that I hadn't been awakened at 6am by my grandma making coffee and breakfast.
  531. I stepped out of bed, opened the door to my room, and looked toward the kitchen. Nothing. "Grandma?" No response. She wasn't in her room, either.
  532.  
  533. It wasn't uncommon for my grandma to run off without telling anyone. She probably went to the grocery store or over to the neighbor's house to share the latest neighborhood gossip. I didn't think too much about it. I poured myself a bowl of cereal, sat on the sofa and watched cartoons for 3 hours.
  534.  
  535. My grandmother's house was one of the oldest in the community. It was a two-level old Victorian style house. About twenty years ago, my grandma broke her hip in a bad fall and she hadn't been upstairs since. She always joked that we all couldn't wait for her to die so we could go collect all the old valuable antiques from the upstairs bedrooms. I always pictured the rooms having old mannequins and cast iron cookware.
  536.  
  537. Alone in the house with nothing else to do, I decided to explore this unvisited area of the house. I climbed the creaky stairs and entered a carpeted hallway that opened into 3 rooms. I entered the door to my immediate left. The room was full of dust and cobwebs, but under some sheets I saw some old junky sewing equipment. Some old paintings. A bunch of old clothes in muted colors.
  538.  
  539. Disappointed, I moved on to the next room. I open the door and I see a rocking chair. Someone's in it, rocking back and forth, a fresh pitcher of ice water sitting on the nearby table. "You touched the thermostat, didn't you?"
  540. "I'm sorry grandma, I was so hot, I couldn't -"
  541.  
  542. She rises from the chair. She drops the blanket covering her. And she's naked. "Is grandma going to have to pour some sense into you?"
  543.  
  544. At once, she's on me, an old rusty speculum in her hand. She pushes me to the ground and inserts the cold metal into my ass. She twists the rusty mechanism and it creakily opens my asshole. "Are you cold yet, my child?"
  545.  
  546. Confused and in pain, I plead with her to stop. She grabs the pitcher of ice water and empties it into my bowels. I shriek in pain. I begin to shiver.
  547.  
  548. "Cold enough yet?" She removes the speculum. My frozen asshole snaps shut, entombing the cubes of ice and cold water. I begin shivering violently. Cold water and bits of ice shoot from my asshole. I can't hold it. Chunks of shit start explosively hitting the floor. Plop, ffsshhhhh, plop, fssshhh.
  549. Yes, now I am cold. Get the sensation. York Peppermint Patty.
  550. Pasta
  551.  
  552. I dated a teacher for about a year. She was submissive as hell in bed. It drove me absolutely wild.
  553.  
  554. She loved fettucine alfredo. I mean absolutely loved the stuff. She would eat it for breakfast and save the leftovers for lunch every day. We'd go to a local Italian restaurant and she'd order the fucking fettucine alfredo every time. I never questioned it because she was fucking gorgeous and I was lucky to be dating her.
  555.  
  556. Eventually, we moved in together. She would do the grocery shopping and would come home with 10 boxes of fettucine. Her obsession became worse and worse. I began asking her about it and she'd avoid the topic. We'd have arguments about it. Me screaming about it not being healthy to eat that all the time, her saying something muffled because my dick was in her mouth.
  557.  
  558. So one day, I came home early from work. I heard her in the bathroom, so I walked back there and opened the door to surprise her. She shrieks, jumps out of the bathtub, grabs a towel. "It's just me," I say. She looks mortified.
  559.  
  560. ... and then I see the pasta sliding down her leg. At first, just a little, but then large chunks of thick fettucine. It starts making splashing sounds and I'm horrified that her vagina can hold such a large amount of pasta.
  561.  
  562. I should have been mad or at least disgusted. But I wasn't. I was more attracted to her at that point than I ever had been. I run toward her, rip the towel off, and immediately stick my fist into her pasta-laden cunt. I couldn't tell if she was wet or the pasta was just beyond al-dente. It didn't fucking matter.
  563.  
  564. We fucked like rabbits. Every time I pulled out, more pasta. It was absolutely amazing.
  565.  
  566. Exhausted, I look over at her. No fettucine for dinner tonight. I felt like chicken. Like Chicken Tonight. Chicken Tonight.
  567.  
  568. Action Figure
  569.  
  570. Back when I was about 8 or so, I used to stay with my grandparents quite a bit, especially on the weekends. My grandma would frequent the same shopping mall just about every one of my visits.
  571.  
  572. There was a toy store at a nearly-abandoned, perpetually under construction section of the mall. They had your normal, mainstream toys. But in the back corner of the store were some of the oddest toys I'd every seen. They all had some sort of paranormal, demon or ghost theme.
  573.  
  574. I stumbled upon a Super Naturals action figure here. An odd toy that was basically a high-quality hologram behind a piece of transparent dark plastic, the whole thing encased in a "spooky" ghostly robe.
  575. That night, I took it home and placed it on my nightstand. I slept with it watching me. I had dreams of a ghost standing over my bed, watching me sleep. This was fun.
  576.  
  577. I convinced my friend next door that I had actually purchased a haunted toy. I invited him to stay over one night.
  578. Asleep in the bed, the phantom figurine watching over us, we both had a vivid dream of a figure standing over the side of the bed, breathing heavily. No face. Just a robe that opened to darkness.
  579.  
  580. "I told you."
  581.  
  582. He began to cry.
  583.  
  584. "Oh calm down you pussy, it's a joke. Ghosts don't exist."
  585.  
  586. But he was inconsolable. He began trembling. He stepped out of the bed and walked next door to my grandparents' room. He stood over their bed and watched them sleep, breathing heavily. He began humming a monotonous note quietly. My grandfather woke up, asked what was going on. I wasn't really sure myself.
  587. For over an hour, he just stood there, humming that same note. My grandmother, a very religious and superstitious woman, walked to my room, grabbed the action figure, and threw it in the trash. She grabbed the boy by the shoulders and said "Jesus, help this child. Oh please, I pray that you rid him of whatever evil spirit has taken over."
  588.  
  589. By the next morning, the preacher from our local Nazarene church had been called. He asked to be alone with me and my friend. He pulled out his bible, a couple sheets of paper. "Have you children been seeing demons?"
  590.  
  591. "Well, we had dreams, but..."
  592.  
  593. "Oh my... This isn't good I'm afraid."
  594.  
  595. With that, he motioned me over. He asked me to kneel in prayer. He said a few words about God cleansing the house of evil. A few words about us being kids and not knowing what we were dealing with.
  596.  
  597. Then I heard his pants unzip. He pressed his penis into my closed left eye, said something about anointing me with the love of Jesus.
  598.  
  599. And then he raped me. Both of us, actually. The entire time, I was screaming that this was all just a game, crying out for help. But no one came to help us.
  600.  
  601. I prayed. No one came to help us.
  602.  
  603. By the time he was done with us, both of us were curled up on the floor in a fetal position. Bleeding and in pain. He left the room, said a few words to my grandparents, and left.
  604.  
  605. "He raped us," my friend sobbed.
  606.  
  607. Semen flowed from our violated bowels. We had to clean it up to hide our shame. I grabbed some paper towels. I'd never be the same. The quicker, thicker picker upper. Bounty.
  608. Shrimp
  609.  
  610. I once created shrimp that behave like popcorn when microwaved.
  611.  
  612. You pop them in there alive. Useless legs thrashing about. The microwave goes to work.
  613.  
  614. As their flesh heats up, it begins to blister, wrinkle and gather. In immediate distress, they squirm, their legs flailing uncontrollably. First, their beady eyes pop out. Then their flesh swells and pops. The violent "pop" turns their flesh inside out. A perfect white piece of shrimpflesh right there in your microwave.
  615.  
  616. Rip off their little squirmy legs, chop off their deformed heads, rip off their tails.
  617.  
  618. Just like popcorn.
  619. Trap
  620.  
  621. Those fucking Chinese finger traps.
  622.  
  623. During the summers while I was in middle school, I used to hang out with my cousin. She was about my age.
  624.  
  625. Ours was a small working-class town. Not too much for a kid to do. Not too many kids around, either. The whole town reeked of cheap beer and bankruptcy.
  626.  
  627. One of the most memorable events of the summer was the local fair. "Local" being 20 miles away, of course. There were the usual amusement rides and carnival games. And the trashy carnies.
  628.  
  629. These guys were the epitome revolting. Most were missing all but a few teeth, the few that they had were an as-yet-unnamed shade of dark yellow. They were covered in shitty tattoos, their leathery skin so cracked and wilted that their body art appeared as hideous malignant masses of black on their arms, legs and faces. One year one of these degenerates was caught fingering some high school girl in one of the port-a-potties. The local news made a big deal out of it, but we all knew that the local girls loved going to the fair to be corrupted by these guys. The despair, the monotony of existence in our small town was that pervasive.
  630.  
  631. My cousin was an early bloomer. Even at 15, she was absolutely gorgeous. Huge tits, long brown hair. The feverish summer months were made even more sweltering by my precocious cousin meandering about in her revealing summer dress.
  632.  
  633. At some point, she decided to have a go at one of these carnies. Her mark ran one of those rip-off games and had a habit of violently gesticulating at passers-by to get their attention. My cousin walked to the booth, leaned down so he could get a good look at her ample cleavage, and asked if he wanted her to play. "Honey, you can play with me anytime you want."
  634.  
  635. 15 minutes later and this guy has her in one of the empty ticket booths, banging the shit out of her.
  636.  
  637. As I stood outside, I contemplated the significance of desperate teens losing their virginity to what must seem to them an exotic stranger. And at that moment, I realized just how ubiquitous this desperation was. Just wanting to get out. To be free.
  638.  
  639. This carny got my beautiful cousin pregnant. She probably wasn't the first nor the last girl he knocked up. But it was my cousin's ticket to something worth living for.
  640. These Chinese finger traps you might find at a carnival might hold your fingers. But the inescapable listlessness of our existences held our souls.
  641.  
  642. Oh, and also, I like to have my girlfriend wear them while she's giving me a handjob. Four interlocked fingers, the roughness of the material against my frenulum. I ejaculate gallons.
  643.  
  644. Breakfast
  645.  
  646. When I was in college, I used to frequent the shittiest dining hall on campus early Saturday mornings for breakfast. Almost no one was there. That was mainly the appeal - to sit in silence while I ate my breakfast.
  647.  
  648. I sought these moments of solitary reticence more often as I got older. Living on campus, the loud parties, the sounds of traffic, these all slowly began to distress me more and more. My weekly unaccompanied meals at this dining hall were a respite from what I began to see as a hostile world.
  649.  
  650. There was one person I began to notice, however. A petite blonde girl, always overdressed as if she were going off to some business meeting. She wore garish red lipstick that didn't compliment her otherwise modest appearance.
  651.  
  652. She always had impressive amounts of food. And she ate slowly and deliberately. I couldn't help but stare. And she just stared right back. Two seemingly self-sufficient people, staring at each other silently while eating breakfast.
  653.  
  654. As time went on, she gained weight. Over a period of months, I watched her turn from a petite girl into a fleshy woman. She wore the same clothes, her ample bosom often held back by a single button that appeared to be struggling against the very forces of nature to suppress an ever-impending outbreak of womanflesh.
  655.  
  656. And one day I got lucky. That button popped. Flew across the room. Her massive tits popped out of her top. She laughed it off.
  657.  
  658. But over the course of the next year, she got bigger. And bigger still. Morbidly obese, I could hear her struggled breathing between each bite of food. The chair strained under her adiposity. Her every movement was an effort. Until, one day, she didn't show up at breakfast at all.
  659.  
  660. I imagined her ballooning to such a state that she became entirely immobile. One of those folks who they end up having to take out a wall to get them to the hospital. As these thoughts ran through my mind, I became aroused. Really fucking aroused. I imagined her soft, stretch-marked skin. At her size, any fold could act as a vagina. I could fuck her navel, if I could find it. All I needed was lube.
  661.  
  662. And I was right. The college paper had an article about an obese college student who was suffering from heart failure. Right there on the front page, a picture of her. She had grown to the size of a bus.
  663.  
  664. I tracked her down. She was surprised to see me when I entered her room. I told her about my fantasy. And I fucked her. Her backfat first. Then what I think was an orifice - a vagina? Anus? I couldn't tell. Not surprisingly, she swallowed my load with gusto. For 2 weeks, I came in for my daily fatfuck.
  665.  
  666. On week 3 she died. Her heart gave out.
  667.  
  668. Her mom told me that I gave her something to look forward to every day. She asked how we met and how we knew each other. I told her everything.
  669.  
  670. So now I'm fattening up her mom. She's too bony to fuck right now. But in a few months, I'll get my obese fuck toy back. Stop dieting. Start living. Weight Watchers.
  671. Updates
  672.  
  673. A few years back at work, I got a notification that my computer had a virus. I never downloaded anything unusual.
  674.  
  675. System admin guy comes around, runs a quick virus scan. He finds an "infected" pdf. Opens it up. It's a pdf doc my girlfriend had sent me with photos of her vagina before and after she shaved it.
  676.  
  677. "Looks like your girlfriend's vagina is infected."
  678.  
  679. "I already knew that. Herpes. But it's not that big of a deal. Look at her pussy. I'm lucky to fuck that, wouldn't you say?"
  680.  
  681. "Dude, I'm gay."
  682.  
  683. "Ok, look at her asshole, then."
  684.  
  685. "It's not the same."
  686.  
  687. "Sure it is. I mean, anal sex is anal sex, right? Cut her hair short, flip her around, sodomize her, what's the difference dude?"
  688.  
  689. "She's a girl."
  690.  
  691. So I got to talk with my system admin guy about how man ass feels a lot different than girl ass. Girl's assholes are smooth and tight. Men's assholes have a bit rougher texture. "Ribbed for your pleasure" as he said.
  692.  
  693. Having never fucked a dude, I had to take his word for it. Until he offered to let me infiltrate his excrement cave.
  694.  
  695. I made the fucker wear a wig. Flipped him over, had him tape his balls up so they wouldn't swing. Wore a condom. I mean, girl shit is one thing, but man shit? No way.
  696.  
  697. And the texture was different. Not significantly. But different. Different enough that I couldn't ejaculate. I fucked a man's asshole but couldn't cum.
  698.  
  699. So that's why I always run my Adobe updates, no matter how annoying they are.
  700. Like
  701.  
  702. A girl I knew in high school had one of those "like if you want to save x kid's life" bullshit posts on her wall.
  703. I "liked" it. Not because I believe that shit accomplishes anything. But because I felt bad for an experience we shared some time ago.
  704.  
  705. In high school, she was the quiet girl no one ever really talked to. She had humongous tits for her age, though, but always wore loose-fitting shirts to hide them. People thought she was just fat. But I knew better.
  706.  
  707. I tried unsuccessfully many times to get her to let me see them. She would always smile uncomfortably and walk away. A couple months of this. My determination just increases. I masturbate for hours thinking about her massive chest balloons. What could I say to her to get her to show me those huge nipple pillows?
  708.  
  709. Well, apparently nothing. All this time I had been talking to her. I found out she was deaf.
  710.  
  711. Holy shit. I'd never even known a deaf person before. This made me want her more. You know how some men have a thing for Asian girls? That school year, my thing became deaf girls.
  712.  
  713. I learned sign language. All the vulgar words. But first, "tits."
  714.  
  715. The first day I signed "tits" to my dream girl, I got to see them. And I got to fuck her. But I was so unprepared.
  716. Deaf women make odd noises when they fuck. Normally quiet, they let their internal "can't hear shit" beast out when riding a cock.
  717.  
  718. "EEEEEEEEEEE uuuuuuuhhhh" she screamed. Some of the most guttural, primal sounds came from her mouth. She thought she was being sexy. Scared the fuck out of me. My cock shrunk up inside her. And I ran.
  719.  
  720. I thought I wanted to know what it was like to fuck a deaf girl. I fantasized about it for months. But when I finally got my chance, it terrified me.
  721.  
  722. So, I "like" all her statuses because I feel bad. And because I'm scarred for life.
  723. Suspect
  724.  
  725. When my wife and I first got married, we fucked like crazy. Our first apartment, we fucked on the kitchen table, in the living room, on the toilet. Hell, even in the garden out back when no one was around.
  726.  
  727. But slowly, the frequency of our couplings decreased. And over the course of a couple more years, we were lucky to fuck once a week. Then once a month.
  728.  
  729. Don't get me wrong. My wife was still hot and, if I initiated, she'd take my dick like a champ, whether she was in the mood or not. But, more often than not, I could tell she wasn't into it.
  730.  
  731. I loved her but I really wanted sex. I'd never cheat on her. So I turned to internet porn. I'd spend hours every evening downloading, cataloging videos. Until I realized that I wasn't even getting off on it. I just liked cataloging and organizing pornography.
  732.  
  733. For 3 years, I obsessively organized several terabytes of my favorite scenes. I had my favorite starlets, my favorite sex acts and positions. But none of it got me off any more.
  734.  
  735. Then I realized that what I really liked cataloging was women. Finding a new girl that I thought was hot and organizing her into various folders was unbelievably hot. Right click. New folder. Instant erection.
  736.  
  737. A few months after my epiphany, I realized that the folders didn't even need to contain anything. Just a folder, empty, waiting for a new girl. My hard drives were full of endless arrays of folders, all named "Jane Doe" or whatever female name I was thinking of at the time.
  738.  
  739. I'd masturbate to "Jane Doe doggy style folder #1" and the like. The right click of a mouse button started getting me hard.
  740.  
  741. A few months more of this, and now all I need is a mouse that has an audible right click button. I sit in the bathroom with a wireless mouse, clicking the right mouse button over and over again. Click. Ejaculate.
  742.  
  743. My wife doesn't suspect a thing.
  744.  
  745. Religion
  746.  
  747. When the movie The Next Karate Kid with Hilary Swank came out, a Cranberries song was featured in one of the scenes where the protagonist is practicing some of her fancy new karate moves.
  748.  
  749. She's dressed in a skimpy top and tight pants. I was 14 when I first saw the movie. This scene was extremely hot for some reason. I had my own VHS copy of the movie and played that scene over and over.
  750.  
  751. I spilled gallons of seed over Ms Swank moving awkwardly to the Cranberries.
  752.  
  753. The follow-up to the main part of the scene is a bunch of Buddhist monks joining in a dance with her. It's supposed to be humorous, but the sight of these old guys in robes was an instant boner kill. So, it was always a race against the clock - cum before monks appear on screen.
  754.  
  755. I won this contest with myself more often than I lost.
  756.  
  757. But later in life, searching for meaning and having rejected the Christian religion of my upbringing, I started looking into eastern religions, Buddhism being the primary one.
  758.  
  759. I'd read about the various schools of thought. I became obsessed with learning all the ins and outs of the various teachings.
  760.  
  761. But then I realized that religion wasn't what I was looking for. I was looking for a scantily-clad, tall, awkward young woman to dance in front of me while I masturbated, racing against a clock to ejaculate.
  762.  
  763. I've never found what I was looking for. But it's my new religion.
  764. English
  765.  
  766. When I first moved off on my own, I lived in some nice apartments near where my new job was located. Fresh out of college, I had gained the freshman 15 and then some. So I decided to work out every evening in the apartment gym.
  767.  
  768. I'd get on the treadmill, fire up my mp3 player, and walk/jog for about an hour after my workout. And there was always the same guy on the treadmill next to mine, running like his life depended on it. He'd run the entire time I was in the gym.
  769.  
  770. He was a pretty slim guy, neatly combed hair. He had a thick English accent, which only became apparent after weeks of exercising next to the guy when he finally said "hello."
  771.  
  772. I lost fat, started gaining some muscle. I began dating a database admin who lived a few doors down from me. She had an injury a few years back that made her walk with a slight limp. She was gorgeous, smart, and absolutely crazy in bed. Her sexual habits were a bit less "vanilla" than I was used to. She always wanted it in the ass, loved giving head, and was always trying to give me rimjobs. The neighbors started complaining about how much noise we made at night. We didn't care.
  773.  
  774. Things are going great with my new job, I'm feeling better about myself than I had in years, and I had an awesome new girlfriend. Things were really looking up for me.
  775.  
  776. So a couple weeks into my new found euphoria, I'm in the gym again, jogging, and I notice that the English runner isn't anywhere to be found. I don't think too much of it. Until a couple minutes later, in walks my girlfriend.
  777. She gets on the treadmill next to me. She starts running. Her leg is fine. She turns to me, smiles, and says "hello." Except it's that guy's voice.
  778.  
  779. Horrified, I just stop in my tracks, fall off the treadmill. He helps me up. I'm so confused I start to feel high. "You need a drink" he says.
  780.  
  781. We go get drunk together.
  782.  
  783. That night, for the first time in my life, I sucked a dick. I didn't enjoy it. I took him in my ass. I didn't enjoy that either. But when it was my turn, I fucked the hell out of this dude's puckered asshole. I took out all of my aggression for being lied to, for having my euphoric bubble popped. I ejaculated my hate juice into his bowels.
  784.  
  785. Since that time, I've become more and more obsessed with anal sex. I've gone through a series of girlfriends, but I've yet to find one that had an asshole like this English dude. I mean, sure, they're sexy, they've got awesome tits, and their buttholes make me cum, but there was just something special about Mr English's tight shithole that keeps me awake at night, wondering if he's still running on treadmills, corrupting young guys just looking for someone to care about them.
  786. Duck Hunt
  787.  
  788. The game Duck Hunt was amazing for its time. Like every kid who ever played the game, I would often put the light gun right against the screen to kill the ducks.
  789.  
  790. My dad was a hard working man. He scrimped and saved for months to buy me my NES. I didn't realize until I was much older what a sacrifice it was for him to buy it for me.
  791.  
  792. He and I would play Duck Hunt all the time. We really didn't have much in common, but when it was game time, we were best friends.
  793.  
  794. My dad lost his job when I was about 10 or so. Frustrated with not being able to support his family after unsuccessfully looking for work for over 6 months, he turned to drinking. Heavily.
  795.  
  796. I lost my dad. He and my mom fought constantly. She once tried to leave him but he grabbed her, held her down, and threatened to kill her.
  797.  
  798. But we still had game night on occasion. In his sober moments, he was still a loving dad. And every game night, he'd apologize for what a sad sack of shit he had become.
  799.  
  800. And then one night, he came to my room drunk. Insisted that we play Duck Hunt. But he couldn't hit anything. Frustrated, I yelled at him. And he broke down, crying.
  801.  
  802. In a fit of rage, he threw the shitty 13" television across the room, grabbed the light gun and sodomized me with it. He'd pull the trigger over and over and over, asking me if my asshole could see the light.
  803.  
  804. My dad hanged himself in a tree out back. Didn't leave a note or anything.
  805.  
  806. But I guess we'll always have Duck Hunt. And a shit stained light gun.
  807. Interruption
  808.  
  809. When I was a kid, I used to watch Sesame Street. One particular segment, featuring Kermit the Frog with a little girl saying her ABCs, was my favorite. The little girl in the clip kept interrupting to say "Cookie Monster."
  810.  
  811. I saw this segment several times. The girl was about my age. It stuck with me for years. I even had dreams about it. Then nightmares. It started to take over my life. I couldn't complete any tasks at work without my train of thought being broken by this little girl's face, her innocent giggle, and COOKIE MONSTER.
  812.  
  813. I didn't know what to do. I was a wreck. So, I made it my mission in life to track down the woman who had starred in this clip decades ago.
  814.  
  815. After months of calls, public records research, and Facebook stalking, I finally tracked her down. She was absolutely gorgeous. The little girl that tortured me in my sleep now was a beautiful woman. My dreams turned sexual. Her, naked, holding her breasts, showing me her "cookie monster."
  816.  
  817. I sent her a message on Facebook. We talked for awhile. And then we met. We started dating. I was absolutely in love. For weeks, my head was finally clear. And we decided to move things into the bedroom.
  818.  
  819. As I stood over her, both of us naked, my heart pounding in my chest, I knew what I had to do. For 2 hours, we fucked like rabbits. But every time she'd near climax, I'd back off. I was driving her mad. Just as I had planned.
  820.  
  821. I flipped her around. Told her she was going to get fucked doggie style. She was practically begging me to make her cum. I fucked the hell out of her swollen, glistening vagina. I felt her begin to tighten right as I felt my own orgasm approaching. I pulled out with an audible "pop" and I ejaculated in her hair as I violently, viscerally screamed "COOKIE MONSTER."
  822.  
  823. I never saw her again after that. But now my head is clear.
  824.  
  825. Fucking interrupting bitch.
  826. Neighbors
  827.  
  828. I know what you're thinking. Drunk lesbians. But trust me, that's not as hot as it sounds.
  829.  
  830. I lived next door to a lesbian couple. They seemed nice enough. But they had loud parties all the time and kept me up at all hours. Their butch friends would all come over. Everyone in that place looked like Roseanne Barr. Gallons of cheap beer, softball games in the back yard, hard rock playing over the shitty stereo. Sometimes until 4am.
  831.  
  832. All of this would have been enough to kill any internet-fueled fantasy about lesbian sex. But then I saw my neighbor's vagina.
  833.  
  834. About 2am, their shitty 80s hair band rock music playlist was going round for the third time. I think Cinderella's "Somebody Save Me" was playing. Way too loud.
  835.  
  836. I stormed out my door, threw open the fence to their back yard, and there's a woman playing vagina beer pong. Spread wide open. Looked like an octopus had inked all over itself and had been left to rot for a week.
  837. Motherhood
  838.  
  839. I dated a girl in college. She was fucking insane. I mean, hallucinating that people were chasing her, thinking there was blood coming out of her faucets, tarantulas in her Cheerios insane.
  840.  
  841. But damn she was hot. I convinced myself that all the other shit was fine because I'd never bag a girl as hot as her again.
  842.  
  843. She used to look at porn sites on the internet and ask me if I wanted to try some of the shit she found. We did every position you can think of. Oral. Anal. BDSM. Watersports.
  844.  
  845. But then she started getting into the fisting sites. And she was convinced that her vagina was way too tight to ever accommodate anything other than a penis. Seeing as how she wanted to be a mother someday, she was worried that things wouldn't work out anatomically.
  846.  
  847. So for an hour every day, she'd lube up her vagina, lay back on the bed, and have me try to fist her. Now, I have huge hands, so this wasn't going to be an easy task. After a fucking month of me just awkwardly pawing at this crazy bitch's fuckhole, I managed to get four fingers in to the knuckle.
  848.  
  849. She's obviously not enjoying it, but doesn't want me to pull out because she wants to stretch things out really well. So I'm sitting on the floor, doing a sieg heil in this girl's funbox when I feel something pop. And then something warm.
  850.  
  851. I look up to see a gush of blood running down my hand. She tore.
  852.  
  853. Drove her to the hospital. Dropped her off. Told the attendant that she was crazy and tried to fuck a fire hydrant outside my apartment.
  854.  
  855. Never saw her again.
  856. Hiccups
  857.  
  858. I knew a girl in high school that got hiccups in class all the time. She had those squeaky, girlish hiccups that sound like a mouse having a miniature orgasm.
  859.  
  860. So a couple months of her getting hiccups in class and I just had to ask her what it was about high school physics that gave her hiccups. Her response was surprising. She only gets hiccups when she's sexually aroused.
  861.  
  862. We got to know each other pretty well after that. She told me that she couldn't even masturbate in her house because every time she'd start, she'd get the fucking hiccups and her mom would know she was having sexual thoughts again.
  863.  
  864. We started dating. And eventually, we became sexually intimate. And sure enough, every time we'd initiate any kind of sexual activity, hiccups. But we found that oral sex, specifically deep throating, actually got rid of her hiccups entirely.
  865.  
  866. With most couples, sex is initiated with kissing or a massage of some sort. For my girlfriend and I, she just went down on me. No precursor. No warning. Just a quick unzip and dick in mouth.
  867.  
  868. Now, I'm definitely not complaining. I got to skip over all the shit most guys don't want to do anyway. For months, I was in absolutely the best sexual relationship ever.
  869.  
  870. But things started going downhill. She started getting hiccups again. She'd get them in the shower. In the women's room at restaurants, in movie theaters. Eventually, deepthroating didn't even stop them.
  871.  
  872. So one night, we're being intimate and her little mouse squeaks start up again. She bends over doggy style. I go for her ass this time.
  873.  
  874. And her hiccups stopped.
  875.  
  876. So, we started every sexual encounter with an exploration of her shithole. Hiccups. Anal. Gone.
  877.  
  878. I was in heaven again. No more foreplay at all. Just clothes off, lube up, in her ass. The perfect sexual relationship.
  879.  
  880. And even this wore off. I tried so hard to hang on to it this time. I entered her more forcefully, plunged deeper. No dice. We were determined to find the next sex act to stop her hiccups.
  881.  
  882. We tried everything. I pissed on her. She pissed on me. I got rough with her. Threw her around a bit. She got rough with me. We tried food. Me eating strawberries out of her cunt. And her ass. Sex in public. Exhibitionism, voyeurism. BDSM. Roleplaying.
  883.  
  884. And then knifeplay. I'd pull a knife out, hold it to her throat while I fucked her. No hiccups.
  885.  
  886. At first, it felt wrong. Fucking a girl at knifepoint. But then we got really into it. She wanted me to cut her. So I did a few times. Superficial bleeding wounds. Drove her wild.
  887.  
  888. But even this was not enough. And, so, we decided to live with her hiccups for awhile. Eventually, our sex life diminished to nothing. A boyfriend/girlfriend pair who didn't even so much as hold hands.
  889.  
  890. She asked me to try knifeplay one more time. And I relented. Put the knife to her throat. She told me to put it in. So I put on a condom. "Not that. The knife."
  891.  
  892. I plunged the knife into her trachea. Air flowed freely from the new stoma in her neck. No hiccups. But hell, what do you do with a hot chick with a stoma? You gotta fuck that thing. So I put my dick in her breathing hole. Fucked that bloody windpipe for a good five minutes. Amazing.
  893.  
  894. We broke up soon after. She's still got that hole in her neck. But no hiccups.
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